


Silence Row

by MatthewTheFadeStrider



Category: Saints Row
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boss is a recruite (Saints Row), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Johnny/M!Boss, M/M, Mild Angst, Original Character(s), Original Gangs, Saints Row II Mission References, Spoilers for Saints Row I & II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 23:52:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4325655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MatthewTheFadeStrider/pseuds/MatthewTheFadeStrider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Boss, although not called that at the beginning, was quiet and silent to all except for Johnny Gat. Somehow, the young recruit felt safer around the Lieutenant, and Gat felt a protective instinct towards the kid. Johnny hated his silent demeanor at first, but soon found out some of the reason behind the tortured soul's silence.</p><p>DISCONTINUED????</p><p>(I may not proceed with this work, because as it is - I have very little inspiration for the fandom anymore)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scared Shitless, Protecting Witness

**Author's Note:**

> Bare with me peeps, I'm still learning the events of the series. I just got halfway through the first as of 7/11. Heh. I learned it at 7/11. (Ironic BTTF referance)
> 
> AISHA DOESN'T EXIST IN THE UNIVERSE - just as a heads up if you get mildly confused about it.

The recruit drove Johnny out of his fuckin' mind, and not in a good way. The kid was silent, not asking questions and following orders without even so much as flinching or complaining. No matter what they asked, he went, he solved, and he managed not to fuck shit up. He was a good recruit, but quiet and young enough that he'd heard Dex, more than once, say the boy was probably their youngest initiate yet. Dex was always three steps ahead of everyone commonly and freakishly being able to read people before he barely got a good look at them. For Dex, the comment about his age wasn't an insult or a compliment...it was a statement of fact, pure and simple - with the meaning behind it that Gat knew all to well.

"Youngest Initiate Yet" truly meant "This poor fuckin' soul"

Crime wasn't exactly an easy life, and Gat quietly had a bet goin' with Tony Marke on how long the kid would last.

Tony put more faith in the kid than Gat had.

* * *

 

Gat was glad he lost the bet really, the fucker proved himself against the kings and showed he could handle himself despite that silent, scared demeanor. He called the kid into his office one day to speak to him...

It was a typically one sided conversation. "You got shit figured, huh kid?"

The young dirty blonde nodded, not pissing himself by any stretch. He seemed more brave than he had going into the battle with the Vice-Kings.

"Talkin' to you, playah - is like talking to a fuckin' mirror. You got anything? No - ah fuck then. Keep the silent act kid, even tho' you got nothin' to fear from you're fellow saints. So long as you keep shit in check."

Despite this, Johnny had more faith in the kid than he believed he would at the outset.

* * *

He remembered once when they ended up in a strip-club. Hell, he was trying to get something out of the kid and he would just blush and stare at his palms. Gat and Julius thought it was just because of his normal demeanor. But when they tried getting him a lap-dance, he watched with disinterest and was completely flaccid.

At first they teased him about having erectile dysfunction, but the fact of the matter was that they didn't think anything of it. They moved on quickly, while the young boy eventually directed the ho away and sat there on the couch looking awkward.

* * *

The day Gat learned the kid wasn't a mute, and heard his voice before any other, was after Gat had grown used to his silence. He had long since noticed little quirks that seemed like silent communication. The kid wouldn't speak to you directly, so you had to watch his body-language closely. He usually followed direct orders, came back with the job done, and then seemed to go off on his own for the night. Yet Johnny had reason to believe the kid wasn't going to an apartment, hotel, or even a home. The kid wasn't seen with parents when they found him, nor a companion or guardian, he was seen shaking in the corner of a back-alley about to be killed, if it hadn't been for Tony.

The kid displayed a quiet shy persona around the Saints, and a quiet order-taking-no-back-talkin' demeanor in the field...

Other than that, there was nothing they knew of his story...

Gat felt like a fuckin' asshole, and probably a stalker doing it - but his mild curiosity had burned over into a sweltering annoyance that he had to solve. He followed the kid outside when he left for the night once, keeping at a distance with an anonymous hoodie on and a different pair of jeans than he'd worn previously. He hoped that he'd just appear one of the crowd, though with his look it was hard to miss him. The kid seemed beat down tired however, so he wasn't paying attention - not a very smart move. He'd have to teach him to keep an eye on his back, when the 3rd Street Saints aren't, another time.

If he was ever to make it in the business, that recruit would have to learn that skill.

He watched the kid wander in and out of the streets for a while before stopping dead and turning into an alley. It was odd, and something about it made Gat's senses tingle. He made it to the edge, and waited until he heard the rustling die down from around the corner - peaking around quietly as he took a look.

The kid didn't deserve these digs, and he knew he was always open to one of the cribs around town. He shouldn't be trying to lay down on a couple of bags and a pushed up torn blanket that looked like it had years ware and tear. Johnny's shoulders slumped, and he felt awkward doing it - but he couldn't leave the bastard like that. He pushed out from the wall and began walking towards him.

The teenager blinked his eyes open, into a gasp that spiked up into fear, but at least the kid was smart enough to keep himself armed. The blonde pulled the silver hand-gun from his jacket and held it out...and for the first time Johnny heard him speak. "W-who are y-you?" His voice was quaking. It was a pitifully hoarse voice, sounded barely used and torn when he spoke with it. The accent was soft, but he could hear the street touch to it. It was a high voice, showing his age in his early teen years, probably 14. Johnny just didn't notice the kids age, I mean - hell he looked young but Gat was one to shoot first ask questions after, so he didn't pay attention to details like that. Despite all this the blonde held the gun steadily, his hand level as he held it out on Johnny, finger on the trigger with the safety definitely off.

"Whoa-a'ight playa, put the safety back on-" He pulled his hood down, holding his hands out in a no-harm-meant signal.

The boy looked more terrified if anything as he slowly let the gun down in horror.

Gat looked down at him, "You got nothin' to fear, kid." He spoke, his voice abnormally soft. Since when did he become the placating type? "You know we have cribs all over you can crash in, right, Dawg? You're one of us know, so don't fuckin' think you have to stay in filth." He held his hand out for the kid to clasp.

The teenager blinked, hesitated, and then finally reached out to clasp the male's hand. Gat pulled him up and guided him, hand on the kid's back. "You ever had Freckle Bitch's?" Johnny asked as they rounded the corner, not expecting an answer.

* * *

Johnny parked the hijacked car in a shadowed over parking-lot and threw the kid the twins he ordered him without the kid's input. It wasn't like Johnny didn't notice his skinny figure, even for someone of his age. "You know kid, imma ask you to take a fuckin' shower when we get to my crib, right?" He said, trying to give him a hard time. He'd hoped, maybe in this setting, the teen would at least crack a smile or some damn thing. But no, he gave him a plaintiff nodding shrug, as if he took him seriously, and then gratefully took with reverence in his eyes. Johnny was going to punch his shoulder, tell him it was a joke, but noticed the way he was staring at the food and frowned a bit. "You got a fetish for burgers or som'n?" He gave him a knock in the shoulder. Johnny gave a grand chuckle when the kid's cheeks lit up red at the remark.

Gat was used to being bit back when he gave someone a rough time, but the kid just laid down and took some of his snark. He wasn't sure if he was adjusting to someone who doesn't know how to joke back or if he felt sorry for the kid in some fashion. He waited on the teen for a moment, but when he kept blushing and looking at the food Johnny gave some kind of chuff and pulled out his meal instead. He wasn't sure how to take this kid, but didn't hate him by any stretch...fact of the matter was he was the only damn person Johnny felt pity for.

"...thank you..." When that hoarse, broken, young voice hit Johnny Gat's ears he turned to see a kid whom looked like Gat had given him the entire world on a platter by just simply ordering him a burger.

"Just a burger kid." He gave him a shove on the shoulder and then began eating his sandwich.

"I..." It was like the kid had a lump in his throat. This kid acted like he was treading on ice that could break at any minute, and as far as Johnny was concerned he could say whatever was on his mind, even if it offended his eight-inch cock. Not that he probably had any reason to even bring it up in context. When the kid didn't continue Gat shrugged.

"No big, now shut up and eat kid." He teased.

He wasn't sure if the teen took it seriously or not, mostly because he was usually silent all the time.

* * *

Johnny pulled the car over a few blocks from his crib, not wanting the damn thing to be traced back to him. "You're crashing in my digs." He said without room for argument, not that the recruit had much in him. In typical fashion the kid didn't say anything, just got out and followed Johnny like a lost puppy.

* * *

It must have been 1 am when he woke up again. He found the pillow comfortable and the fresh scent of soap on his skin refreshing. He'd blushed furiously when Johnny had laughed and claimed he was joking. It was the first time since his infancy that he was laying on furniture rather than a hard floor, out on the street, or inside a muddy pen with his father's five rottweilers. I suppose it was not an uncomfortable feeling, but it woke him up several times because he wasn't used to something being clean and soft when he laid on it...let alone soft. He knew when he was a baby, and his father hadn't yet beaten his prostitute mother to death, that he had laid in a crib. But that was years...years...years ago - beyond his memory.

Rolling into the soft leather he sighed out his nose and relaxed again when he realized that it wasn't the only first thing in years he experienced. Since he joined the saints he had the closest thing he could call to a family. Perhaps the gang didn't think of it that way...but he did. Years spent under his father's sadistic amusement left him wry without knowing how to take people. He'd never gone to school, never was able to leave the house with his father around, never slept on a bed, was forced to fight his dogs for food, had to watch his mother brutally die in front of his eyes, had been violated on multiple accounts, and had been trained into silence. Not only that, but he'd been forced to wear a shock-collar most of his childhood after he tried to run from home the first time...

The only reason why he was in any way literate was because, before the shock-collar punishment, he'd built up a routine of stealing from children in the neighborhood who left their backpacks unattended outside temporarily. He became desperate at a point, and stole an entire back-pack in the morning hours once, without the kid turning around and noticing the feeble looking five year old who was sneaking right behind them.

He remembered finding a sandwich in there the kid was supposed to eat for lunch. 

It made him very happy...for it was the only thing he got to eat that week.

Honestly he was afraid to talk around the Saints, for he feared if he did, he would say something shitty or stupid and get kicked from the only lifeline he had to anything that kept him from his fathers grasp.

He heard a rustling, and a light caused a faint gray glow to the back of his eye-lids. He opened his eyes again, and looked over to the source out of instinct. Johnny was leaning against the frame of his fridge, scanning over something inside. He felt like he was invading a private moment, and almost spying on him just staring like this. He was shirtless, one arm resting on the door of the fridge. The teenager felt his eyes linger on the movement his arms made while Gat rummaged. 

The blonde saw him pull something out, and as Johnny began to turn the recruit quickly closed his eyes, breathing through his nose silently. The Teenager could have sworn he flinched or jumped.

He remembered falling asleep on the couch, even though Gat had previously offered to let him take one of the bedrooms. Johnny had sat next to him, feet sprawled out while the teenager slowly descended into fatigue during one of The Godfather movies. Johnny probably saw how tired he looked and hadn't moved him, instead bringing him a blanket and a pillow. 

For some reason the teen felt more comfortable around Johnny, especially since he'd reached out to him.

He wasn't quite sure how to take him though - some of the things he said were odd.

* * *

 

 

Honestly just being with the Saints was teaching him more grammar and day-to-day survival skills than he would have ever learned if he would have stayed inside that yard, and hadn't used one of his father's broken beer bottles to cut through the electric shock collar. And the best part was he'd already went in with more ability to handle profane language due to his childhood. Being brutally honest, the first word he ever spoke was "fucker".

His whore of a mother didn't take to kindly to this, although had the vaguest hints of the story enough to know his father was sadistically amused by her anger.

Although, he probably figured it came out more like a hoarse 'trucker' than anything. He could never speak right as a kid, and that irritated the fuck out of his father. He eventually got past the natural childhood speech-impediment but was already used to being beaten still whenever he spoke, so he didn't even risk it.

The most he spoke was when he saw a fluffy cat the neighbors had every now and again...

Before his fathers dogs ate it. He remembered crying for hours.

None the less, there was something about growing up around swear words and very little vocabulary that made you used to the words. In fact he didn't even know they were profane until he was at least ten years old.

But there was one Saint in particular that stood out to him as being a friend, and it didn't take to many guesses to find out who. Johnny took a particular interest in him. He allowed him to crash...ok forced him to crash at his crib, drove him around, talked to him regularly (even if it was a one-sided conversation), and gave him Freckle Bitch's on a regular basis. He was the fist true friend he ever had, and it was odd for the young teenager. He quickly gained a reputation in the Saints, although he didn't care much at first about the fame of it.

Sometime later it would go to his head, but until then he was just a quiet shy teenager who was slowly trying to shrug off fear completely and stand as a gang-member. 

Johnny meanwhile kept a close eye on him until the kid could support himself with meals and give himself clothing. It just became normal for the teenager to end up flopping down in the passenger side of Johnny's car as they make a silent drive to his favored crib. Tonight was mildly different however, for actually was going to break the silence.

"J...Johnny?"

"You're voice is gettin' stronger, Dawg." He pointed out. "Whats doing?"

I suppose the teenager hadn't even noticed it, but the once cracked up and barely audible voice was becoming more clear the more he spoke with Johnny on occasion. "I...." He paused, "'Nuttin."

"Bullshit. Speak." Johnny gave a side-glare over the top of his white-rimmed sunglasses.

He paused, then tried different tactics. "Freckle Bitch's?" He asked.

Johnny gave a chuckle that was signature of him, "That still isn't gunna wiggle yo' ass out of piping up, you know that?"

"The mission...tomorrow..." He said, giving in.

* * *

 

When the kid mentioned the mission Johnny was curious, for he almost never questioned when he was sent to do a task. This time, something in his eyes was out of fear - perhaps a trembling trepidation for some damn reason.

"-'s Near where I was found..." He finished the sentence.

Gat gave him a side glance. "You're trembling. You - my man - have faced down crazed drug-lords to escort them, assassinated on contract, and faced down the kings. Why piss out now?"

Johnny could tell from the teen's pause he was fighting with himself, but in the end he answered. "...'s near my home..."

"You have a home?" The news shocked Johnny, but only mildly so. He didn't expect that he sprouted from the ground, but had just assumed he'd gotten lost or abandoned. Perhaps he had, but Gat had never questioned things.

"No...used to."

Johnny's raised eyebrows punched down again as he recovered from the surprise. "Delving into your time before, eh? Didn't expect that from you."

"Hate to talk 'bout it." He said miserably.

Johnny punched the radio's dial, making the car fall silent. He watched the kid mess with his thumbs for a time before Gat's hunch became clear. "...You have a family don't you..." It didn't come out phrased as a question. Besides, it wasn't like he sprung out of the ground.

"Used to." He said, his words not fully equipped to eloquent language yet. Johnny wasn't sure if that was because he rarely spoke or for another unknown reason. Not that his sentences needed to be perfect, but half the time the kid sounded like he was still in a higher elementary grade level of language. Which that wasn't so bad you couldn't understand him, but it wasn't perfect either. "I ran 'way..."

"This was a while ago?" He said, trying to keep the kid talking. It was rare to get him talking, and Johnny hoped he could improve him if he continued.

"Mhm." He said, nodding. "I...don' really wanna go alone." He explained, struggling some on one word.

Johnny paused, realizing what kind of hell this kid must have gone through to be afraid of being around his childhood home...that said, perhaps it wasn't out of fear but because of other familial reasons. There was a lot of reasons why teens and kids run from their family all the time, but none go so far as to make the kid sound like this generally. "I'll go, if it helps, kid."

The kid looked relieved at the thought, and Johnny turned his attention to the road thinking they'd fall into silence for a time again. He heard the kid speak out "Johnny?"

"Mhm."

"Thank you..."

"No big, kid. For real." He smiled out of the corner of his mouth.

* * *

 

Johnny felt responsible for him. Honestly he was growing attached to the kid, and going with him to make sure he got the job done near to a possibly fucked up past? Johnny'd take a fuckin' bullet for that kid, let alone just walk beside him to aid him when it came to courage.

The kid was a train-wreck, meaning that whatever happened before he was inducted into the Saints must have taken a shit-load of torment to this tortured soul.

Honestly, Johnny had his back, and somehow he sensed that whenever the day came that kid finally grew into his own - he'd probably have Johnny's too.


	2. "Morpheus"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If anyone was wondering, yes, it's a crossover of SR I & SR II.
> 
> So.  
> Yeah.
> 
> The title of this is inspired because Morpheus is sleep. This chapter was to basically introduce what happened in the meantime and his parasomnia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus fucking Christ I suck at updating :P
> 
> Sorry guys, I literally took a long break staring at the damn thing because I was drawn a blank for so long.

The Saint's assassination attempt on the mayor hadn't gone like anyone involved, had planned. It was supposed to be simple...  
  
While Julius and Troy acted as a major distraction by attacking the captain of the boat, he and Gat would be the ones sneaking on the lower levels and setting a bomb up to blow. Dex was going to be waiting on a boat not far off with the get-away boat to take the three far enough away they were at a safe-distance. Unfortunately, a lot happened that night that fucked the entire operation to literal, and figurative, smithereens. That night, Troy came out as a cop, Julius had disappeared, Gat and the Kid almost got blown the fuck up, and Dex had been laid out in a coma. It all happened fast, and Troy was the root cause of it. Later on, the Teenager wouldn't be so sure that Troy hadn't killed Julius when he tried to get those people off the ship, and save Mayor Hughes, all while ratting out the Saints from the inside.  
  
The immediate time the bomb, that Gat and him were to set down, was WAY to hot. It must have been ten seconds before the Bomb went off, and they'd been informed it was thirty. They thought they had plenty of time, and so they'd taken a quiet stroll to the edge of the boat. When the blast happened, there were two or three beeps that made the teen realize there was something very wrong. He'd cried out in alarm and grasped Gat's arm, launching himself as hard as he could. Even then, Gat and him had gotten caught with a blast of flames. He remembered his ears ringing loudly, barely conscious and coughing, while he wondered if he was going to go down inside the waves and join Lin in a watery grave. Then, like a miracle, he felt Johnny's arms slip around his frame and try to drag him out. " _Johnny_..." He felt the name slip from his lips, thick voice barely managing it.  
  
"I gotchu, mother fucker." He was feeling water slip past him harshly, waves cracking like whips, against his burned skin. "I gotch'yo ass."

" _Johnny_..."

He only remembered waking up in a crib after that, tired and quiet, with gauze wrapped carefully around his torso. The look of the gauze suggested someone who took care with the wrappings, like their fate depended on it. The look of it was someone who may not have had much experience changing things like it, but probably took way more time on it than they normally did. Kid had smiled, when he awoke, because he knew immediately whom the "unbeknownst" person, in question, was.

Looking around, his expression faded into realization, as he was in Johnny's crib. Struggling up into a vertical position, he coughed from the pain of his injuries. Shit, he got blown the fuck up, why shouldn't he be in agony trying to move? How long had it been? Where was Johnny? Dex? Everyone?

"-Bout time yo' burnt ass woke up."

The teenager smiled when the light flicked on, even if it burned his eyes to a flinch. The familiar figure was a welcome sight before his 'burnt ass'.

 

* * *

  
  
The Kid yawned, drifting in and out of sleep while his hands shook on the steering wheel. Tonight he refused to be at home on time, and had instead settled for driving around for hours listening to Generation X and 95.4 Khryme FM. He must have been driving for what, six hours now? He checked his phone, which he knew he shouldn't, but at the moment he was in a foul enough mood that he didn't particularly give a damn (it wasn't like he had a license in the first place). Yup, about six and a half now. No text messages were received and the line was completely dead. No Onyx Slicers, Animals, or Bulldog Drivers coming after him or his turf right now, which was just as well. The new gang population cropping up in Stilwater was best served quiet than bothering him. He wasn't really in the mood to deal with anything, even if the thought of strangling someone did sound appealing. It was after the thought occurred to him that he realized he, perhaps, was spending to much time with Gat. He must be turning into a spitting image of him.

The blonde brushed back the singularly hanging lock of blonde, placed against his forehead, and huffed out a sigh. He needed a new-hair do, perhaps something more faux-hawk like rather than lengthy and pony-tail held. It made him look to feminine, and his size didn't help. The other day the kid could of sworn a guy hit on him, thinking he was a woman. He didn't turn to see the man who'd wolf-whistled, and said an antagonizing innuendo; he just kept walking awkwardly. Another time one of the Saints had asked him "Is that supposed to be a homo-disguise?" He remembered blushing, because the Saint didn't know how harsh that truly was, and how home it hit with the teenager.

He was, in fact, Gay.

Which made things all more strained with his fellow Saints, especially given their preferences already. Not one hit on any males, nor showed any signs of preference towards them. He was the odd man out among many straight males. When they'd laughed at the trip to the club, when Gat had given him a hoe to give him a lap dance, he'd sat there blushing and fighting the tears of rage. He knew though that the Saints were his only way out, and so he'd kept his mouth shut like he always did...

But it was still infuriating. Not like he wanted to be all up in people's faces like some gays were, no - he just wanted to live his way and not be ridiculed for it.

Dex gave him these scants looks after that. He knew Dex was smart, and often could read people well. He liked to think before acting a lot, and the Kid respected him for that...even if it got a little tedious following his 'slow the blood-flow' rules all the time. The kid was a mix of Dex and Gat in the way he got things done - fast and smart to the word go, but also liking, a lot more than a little, blood on the job. He blew through people on his way, but also was smart enough to think his way out of situations if he was given them. Dex had begun calling him more than just "playa" and had started calling him "ramanjan". When he first called him that, Dex had inferred the reason behind it after the kid's confused expression.

_"Once a man with no formal schoolin', just showed bein' natural when it came to math. He was smart, even without guidance."_

He was the only one who'd dubbed him after something. A sense of pride actually resonated these days whenever Dex called him that. Sometimes he just calls him "R" or even "Ram". One way or another, it still left a lingering sense of belonging with the teenager.

Gat called him kid still, even though he was 16 now and not so young anymore.

Julius used to call him playa, among others.

King still called him son when he rarely spoke to him.

Most Saints called him 'mah boy', one crazy bum called him 'mikey', he's often called 'the local psychopath' on the radio, and several times (back when he first joined) he'd been called "that mute motherfucker". Yet, out of all the names he'd been dubbed, he still kept his self-dubbed secret.

Lorenzo.

He'd named himself Lorenzo because of who he wanted to be. His mother had been Hispanic, and so he was a mixed race with his father having been Caucasian. To him, Lorenzo represented something worth being, but whom he'd became had wiped out the name he'd long-given himself. So consequentially he'd taken to other names...

Even Johnny knew not what his real name was.

Nobody could.

Ever.

He found his eyes slowly drifting closed, and realizing he couldn't put off sleep anymore, he shook his head in order to wake himself up. It was vastly too late to head in to Shear Intensity for a hawk, so instead he headed to the closest crib. Getting into the house he'd taken, like a prize, from the Carnales was simple. Getting upstairs in his groggy state was like dragging himself across asphalt, and getting into bed was relieving.

Yet, as he began drifting, he caught himself and shook himself awake. He can't fall asleep, until he takes his medicine, because lord knows what he might do if he does. He has to take his Anti-Depressants to help combat his Parasomnia lest he go into fits of nightmares or wake up while trying to walk off a balcony, in his sleep, again. Dragging himself off the bed, he coughs and fumbles towards the bathroom. He feels like he was deprived, and it took him a long time (while fumbling with frustrating white pills) to recognize that he hadn't eaten all day. He wasn't taking damn good care of himself, and Gat would have probably picked him up and slapped him for it. He just felt so busy trying to deal with the Bulldogs and training recruits lately, that he was neglecting himself. Flinching at his appearance in the mirror, blood splattered across his broken nose and bruises marring his features, he swallowed the pills forcefully before carefully washing off the dried red elixir. As he patted down his face, with the soft fluffy white towel, he flinched at his side giving him a good 'fuck you' out of the blue.

Shrapnel was giving him grief again.

"Fuckin' Troy..." His thick voice spoke, flopping down against the sheets staring up at the gray colored ceiling that was only illuminated by the occasional lightning crack across the sky. Only a month after defeating the kings, the carnales, and the Rollers...here he was. He wondered quietly if Lin would look down upon him and slap him senseless right now.

* * *

 Flames illuminated the darkness, tearing down the whole of the building to rubble. The gray mask of smoke filled the higher air, causing his lungs to choke. He was retching...coughing into a void of illuminated danger that bordered on the brink of death. He should be getting poisoning from this air, he should die from smoke inhalation. Perhaps not now, but the ash in the air was distinct and infamous. Out of instinct he reached to his mouth, trying to breathe through his palms rather than the combustion surrounding him.  
  
When his hands reached his vision; however, he looked upon his bones and veins. There was no skin, and the blood was rushing past his finger-tips, splattering the ground with a pooling brutality. He would have screamed, but it felt like his wind-pipe was being squeezed by invisible palms without mercy. The sensation gripped tighter the more he tried, the feeling of claws digging into his flesh, accompanying the response. Then, it felt like a buzz that slowly lit up his entire body, the invisible claws sending shocks of electricity through his entire being. He fell...  
  
He fell into a pile of smoking rubble that lit his body up with agony, and yet  with a simultaneous amount of nothing. He continued to fall, burn, and blaze...

His body fell unto water, it was cold, yet he was still burning. Shouldn't the water have put it out? And why couldn't he swim?

He just kept sinking...

And when his head turned his eyes looked into Lin's.

Nobody was there to save him.

* * *

A lightning crack greeted his eyes when he shot up from bed, gasping. The kid calmed himself slowly, reminding himself what he had to deal with, what he had to do to control himself. Parasomnia was a bitch, but over the course of the past few months he'd learned to comprehend how to deal or put others in danger. Pulling his legs up to his chest he breathed through his nose. In. Out.  
  
In.  
  
Out.  
  
When he'd calmed, he sighed and got up, trying to shake the dreams as he walked inside the kitchen to grab something to munch on. He stepped over a savory image of a passed out Saint (with alcohol splattered all over him) and disgustedly gagged. Getting to the fridge he pulled open the door and began rummaging through to find something to munch on.

He managed to get passed the Cognac, Bubbly, and Dolt enough to find a half-empty Big Swallow (he had been drinking earlier) and one chocolate candy bar, along the way, as well. Pulling himself on the counter he decided his left-over Soda wasn't much of a triumph, but he was willing to deal with the shit. The package ripped open under his grasp, and he began munching softly. Tonight was an ominously silent night, the only sound breaking it was rainfall on the pent-house and the occasional thunder-roll in the distance. Leaning against the wall he took a distasteful sip and situated his legs to cross each-other. He wondered if Johnny was getting home yet, if their favorite crib was open, dirty walls still disgusting after all the time that passed in the Red Light district.

There was a time when the two enjoyed sitting there with that tiny TV on just eating cereal in the morning while Johnny talked about how much bullshit he had to put up with or how certain...well most...people pissed him off. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but it was mere 2 years.

Throwing away the empty package idly on the counter idly for another Saint to deal with he took a long drink out of the Freckle Bitch's cup, swinging his legs up and down. It was a very childish look for him, after every mother fucker he'd brought down, but I guess he wasn't fully grown. He tried to avoid drinking alcohol whenever possible, but he'd gotten his hands on a 40 oz before and it wasn't like Johnny Gat discouraged it. If anything, Gat ended up being the reason he was drunk 78.234487% of the time.  
  
Approximately.  
  
But, that was technicalities which he didn't care to dwell on.

Once he was done, he threw things off idly into the trash and went back to his room. Flopping down on the bed, he sprawled his legs out and smiled. What was it about life right now that seemed like a constant state of limbo...

It was great and yet it was terrible at the same time, and as he smiled up at the ceiling he began to wonder if he was losing his shit. Yes he'd been called a Sociopath before, but that didn't change the fact that a year ago he'd actually had sanity. Now here he was having so much blood on his hands he was metaphorically swimming in it, and he felt absolutely no remorse.

Yet he felt remorse for Dex.

He rolled over, about to sleep, when his phone lit up with a new text. Reaching out he rolled over so he could see it.

_Gt dwn 2 fckn hosp need 2 tlk_

He put away his phone and sat up, rubbing his eyes from Johnny's sudden call. Shit, I suppose you couldn't ignore what the boss said to do. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed he pulled on his shoes and started towards the door - clasping his coat in hand along the way. He wasn't relishing the thought of going into the rain tonight, but when Gat told you to do something to better damn well do it. Especially now that he was leading the Saints.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So next chapter is when the war begins, and I'll leave it at that.
> 
> Plot twist: Johnny leading the Saints. How about that?


	3. All in all...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So it begins. I tried not to deviate as best as I could from the series battle style, but you'll have to excuse me for not being THAT great at fight scenes. LOL
> 
> \-----
> 
> Update on 2/16: Ok, I saw Anamnesis by Rants was updated, and got inspiration for this again. You really should read it too, great Johnny/Boss fic. I'll put the link in the last note.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...it staahts.

 

 

Kid was a notoriously terrible driver. Just...

Terrible.

Everyone who committed the sin of going the normal speed limit ended up getting side-swiped, back ended, or front-end crashed into. Of course, one thing, of late, that Kid couldn't figure out. Why someone stupid actually just sat there and didn't drive off when he'd hit the side of their vehicle. I mean...couldn't they see that he was PLAINLY trying to go forward? Jesus. There was a time when his purple Fluer-De-Lance would get a wide birth. People showed him enough respect to clear out of the way when he came blasting down the road at 120 miles per hour.

Okay, so what if that all started because he couldn't drive?

Who cares?!

He's first lieutenant of the mother fucking Third Street Saints!

He'd destroyed full trucks and their cabin (that was taking fifteen cars somewhere mind you), blown up people in cars for fun, launched grenades at the police station just to see how long it would take before the SWAT team arrived (ok, so that one was Johnny's idea, but at least he could take credit for throwing the first grenade)....

Of course, he probably got this from Johnny, whom had taught him how to drive himself. Johnny wasn't exactly the safest driver, especially not since he, himself had a bad habit of road rage. Not to mention disregard for human life, and well...pretty much everything. 

* * *

 

 

_The kid meandered whilst his superiors spoke, staying within ear-shot, but also allowing his teenage boredom to get the best of him. Teenagers were notoriously bad listeners, and that was obvious and apparent, especially now. They were speaking of him, because some of the older Saints believed a kid shouldn't be getting the privileges he was getting. Of course he'd made his case through Johnny, whom translated the whispers as 'fuck it, this kid hasn't gained, anything - he's earned it...just like all ou' motha fuckin' asses!'_

_For which he was eternally grateful._

_Right now he stared up at a purple, black, and white hat longingly. He had no money on him, and he had just started in the Saints despite making a huge instantaneous hit. He only had the money necessary to afford his bullets, not an article of clothing he-_

_He found that the hat was being taken off the shelf and handed to him, "This fuckin' meetin' is ova. The motha fucka stays. He stays with me." Johnny said, then turned back towards him again, expression changing from the aggressive Johnny to a more familiar Johnny only he got the pleasure of witnessing (as the other Saints filed out from fear of provoking Gat). "You want this, kid?"_

_Kid._

_He was called that by Johnny, and liked it. He could even live with it being a permanent title..._

_Just as long as Johnny kept saying it._

_He moved his lips, but finally settled on a nod, no sound coming out. Johnny gave it to him and pushed on his back towards the door._

_"Sir-you have to pay for tha-"_

_"Do I, asshole?" Johnny said, pointing the barrel of the shot-gun down the man's face, whom simply whimpered and backed off, cowering when Johnny and Kid walked out._

_As bells began ringing from the store, Johnny looked down at him and said, "Put that on proudly, kid. And rememba, don' let anyone tell yo' ass what to do. You with me, and the Saints. The only way yo' ass gunna get anything, is to take the shit you want and not let anyone stand in yo' way. Blow them motha fuckas ova if you have to."_ _Kid put it on, "Nah, Kid." Johnny flipped it around so it was backwards.  Small tuffs of blonde hair stuck out from the front."Much fuckin', betta. Now, let's ride..."_

* * *

 

Kid adjusted his backwards cap and smiled fondly.

It didn't take him long to be admitted when he got to the hospital. "Johnny?" He peaked into the room.  
  
"Hey, kid. Ova here." The silver and black haired male gestured, causing a slight swallow before Kid came trotting over solemnly.  
  
"Johnny?" He asked, again, as a question.  
  
J-Gat knew the question's meaning, because he'd been around him for years now. "Yeah, he's tight. He's fuckin' laid out, s'all."  
  
The kid came over with a trot and sat down on the other side of the African American's form, looking uncomfortable as he shifted his feet outwards. The Anglo-Hispanic teenager cracked his neck and crossed his legs awkwardly. "Johnny?" He asked again, translation easy to pick up on.  
  
"No, they haven' picked up., but they gettin' closa'. We need to get 'is ass out before shit goes-" A sharp buzz resonated as the lights went out and Gat cut off, the statement, with a glance to his surroundings.  
  
"-Down?" The kid finished quietly, looking around like a cat tracking a fly.  
  
Without commenting on that, Johnny Gat stood up and reloaded his shot gun. "Yo'. Grab the fuckin' stretch." He stood up quickly, flipping around. "I'll be coverin' yo' ass."  
  
The Kid rolled his eyes and started gearing up. There were muffled yells downstairs, and the obvious popping sounds of a firefight blasting through the floors. Several bullets unintentionally ripped through the wall beside them, and they got the jest that their pursuers were too close for comfort. Having turned the stretcher with a grunt towards the door, Kid gave a signal to Gat with his hand that he was ready to start. He clasped one hand around his Glock (don't get a dirty mind) and the other around the back bar to push Dex around. Kid cursed audibly when bullets ripped through the wall so close he could feel them fly past the back of his hair, but a loud thud on the wall muted it. Gat kicked open the door and pumped the gun, shooting his first victim with a head-shot to the floor.  
  
His buddy shot back at Johnny, ripping through his left shoulder before Gat cursed out, "Yo' fuckin-" The rest was blocked out by Gat's shot to the gang member's groin. The man dropped his gun, grabbing the area and going down with a whimper. Gat re-iterated, "No dick piece-of-shit-"  
  
With a, "Literally-" Kid looked down at the Red and Gold colors on them, "Shit, it's Them Dogs." 'them dogs' was a title other gangs had adopted for the Bulldog Drivers, and in all honesty - with how ugly they all were - it wasn't a surprise the other gangs started using the derivative term for them.  
  
"Kid, don' you fuckin' know by now I don't fuckin' care whom I'm shootin', as long as I'm shootin'."  
  
"Or killing in general." Dex groaned from the medical bed.  
  
Kid made a mingled noise of surprise and relief, which was promptly waved down.  
  
"Get me out of here, Lil' R. And  Johnny...try 'n keep th' civilian count to a minimum..."  
  
"Wha's the fun in tha'?!" Gat said, as another person came running past and he indiscriminately blew their head off.  
  
Kid made a noise and waved his arms, a common gesture of irritation.  
  
"Ram is right. It's time to move." Dex coughed out some blood and gave a pointed warning in regards to a group of Bulldog Drivers, whom came rushing down the hall with a ferocious look to their features. Gat blew the first one away, and Kid put down the second with two bullets. The last managed two shots at them, one going into Gat's wrist, and the other ending up in Kid's ankle. Johnny didn't make a noise, but the ankle shot caused a hiss to break from Kid's mouth.  
  
Johnny ended up shooting him violently in the chest, pumping, and then watching as a singular bullet flew straight between the gang member's eye courtesy of Kid's spectacular aim.  
  
"Whoo! Alright!" The Asian psychopath smirked. He kicked off again, silver jacket flapping like a cloth in the wind.  
  
Kid skidded behind, struggling with trying to hold a gun and the med bed at the same time. Gat had to stop and shoot a squadren while Dex's bed was fought against sometimes, causing Johnny to use that sharp tongue of his the first time around. "Yo' ass sure yo' got tha' motha fuckin' bed, Kid? Dex seems to be more of a help than yo' ass righ' now."  
  
The teen was used to Johnny's sense of humor enough he could bite back on occasion, when he so choose, "-'bout you get off mah dick..." He called, causing even Dex to let out a chuckle. Though Kid quickly caught the innuendo he should have seen before letting the statement out of his mouth, and blushed as bright as bright as the red exit sign (just ahead of them) normally would be. Gat seemed to glance over it though, and merely snickered.  
  
Kid continued on his way, but it got slower and slower the more Dex bled. Kid was trying to be more careful, despite the wheel's seeming inability to turn through sharp hallways in the hospital. Once they made it to the hospital doors and realized they had no get away car (Kid's was sitting smoking in the parking-lot) Kid angrily ended up grunting to a halt as he wasted precious time getting Dex's bed to back up and turn. Not just out of frustration due to the wheels, but because THAT WAS A DAMN FLEUR-DE-LANCE-  
  
"Ya' know..." Gat started, taking out another with a quick shot to the right side of the chest, "Yo' ass ain't bein' much of a fuckin' 'elp, Dex. We could just leave you 'e'ya."  
  
"Lil' R already went with 'get off my dick' so I'll go with a classic..."  
  
"Fuck you?" Gat asked.  
  
"Piss off."  
  
Kid let out a noise that wasn't quite a giggle, but wasn't masculine either.

Naturally Gat commented on it, "Yo' ass been talkin' to the hos again, 'uh, kid?" He implied on femininity.

Kid blushed, unable to come up with any counter argument.  Talking was actually the correct term for it, as he didn't feel any attraction to them unless they were male, and there wasn't really any gay bars or male strip clubs close by.

"-oh, and you haven't been hangin'?" Dex said, then rephrased, "Hanging not being the correct term."

Gat had no shame in saying, "Fuck right." But it only made Kid scowl at the floor for reasons he refused to speak. "All I'm sayin' is tha' if yo' ass starts comin' home with pink nails and a rainbow hawk, Imma give yo' ass a serious dosage of Testosterone-"  
  
"R-!" But Kid was already on the warning that Dex was about to issue, shooting the guy behind him with a loud pop to the Driver's forehead. He cursed when he was out of bullets and put away his Glock. That was the last thing Dex was able to do before he passed out, having lost WAY to much blood for comfort.  
  
Gat came bursting through the doors that led to the helipad, and quickly gestured for Kid to aid him in loading up the black male in. The two helped him up and Kid climbed on in, almost slipping and falling because Gat took off faster than he was able to situate himself into the floating vehicle. He scrambled to get Dex patched up again, and turned his head when an automatic shotgun started firing at the Helicopter. Leaving Dex partially bandage for fear of one hitting something vital on the copter he took out his Semi-Automatics and started plowing through Bulldog Driver gang members standing on the landing pad bellow until they were at a safe distance. Once then, Kid lifted the Gauze back up and started wrapping again.  


* * *

"He's still breathing. Fuckin' A - Kid...all those sessions with King really did getcha som'n." Johnny kicked back on the black couch and threw the teenager a beer, popping his shoes off and kicking his feet up on the table. Kid sighed, taking off his cap and flipping it to the couch beside them, plopping himself down next to Gat. Johnny held out his fist, which Kid promptly pounded, and the dark haired male flipped on the TV. The commercial that appeared had a little girl speaking about how her father owned Freckle Bitch's. 'Well now I'm all grown UP!'  
  
"Jailbait. Don' ya fuckin' think, kid?"  
  
"Yeah..." He said without thinking, but blushed with the realization that she was about his age.  
  
Johnny smirked and punched him on the shoulder, "I've always prefered 'em young, but not that young. You though, might getta good match with 'er."  
  
"You thinkin' imma start fuckin' her just to get in good with Freckle Bitches?"  
  
"-'mon kid, take one for the team. Fuckin' 'ell you could get my ass free burgers...and your ass...and the Saints. Only fo' the good of the motha fuckin' Saints."  
  
"Suuuure." The kid rolled his eyes, but looked away, feeling partially ashamed of the fact that Gat thought him straight. "-eh. It'd never work anyways 'cause-"  
  
But the 'let's come out of the closet' was promptly interupted by the doorbell, "Ah yeah!" Johnny said, "Fuckin' A! Freckle Bitch's to the rescue."  
  
Speaking of the devil.  
  
Kid rolled his eyes until a Fist landed in his lap. He blushed as he realized the innuendo there, "I tol' you no' ta get me this."  
  
"And I told you shut up and fuckin' eat. Like...right now. So fuckin' do tha' shit." Johnny kicked his feet up again, "Fuck...a Buddy, Bitches, and Boos...this shoul' be every fuckin' day."  
  
"Yo' forgot Butchery..."  
  
"Fuck! Yo' ass right. A Buddy, Butchery, Bitches, and Boos. Now tha's a fuckin' number of B words I can live with."  
  
"I'm guessing both in the sense of the food and the women, eh? Did someone say 'stripper poles'?" He hoped it sounded like he was sincere. He wanted to joke with Gat on that topic...sincerely he did...  
  
Idly he wondered if Gat was ok with those whom were of a different orientation. Gat seemed the type not to give a shit about who you were as long as you were fine with his Psychopathic behavior and didn't get on his bad side. Kid didn't know.  
  
There were a lot of males whom became uncomfortable with their male friends, even if they weren't judgmental, after they came out of the closet. He swallowed the bite of fist, he had just taken, harshly and coughed in his throat. Gat slapped him over the back.  
  
What was it with people thinking if they hit you over the back when you were choking it was going to make it better? If anything, it just made your eyes water...  
  
"Put some fuckin' hair on yo' chest." He smirked.  
  
"Like yo' have any..." Kid choked through the bite.  
  
"Meta-fuckin-phorically speakin', Kid." Gat laughed in the way only Gat could, and it made Kid's cheeks light up with delight. Or maybe that was him losing air.  
  
He took a drink of the Big Swallow and put it down with a coughing laugh. "Fuck..." He took a breath, "You..." His blush got wider as the you came out with a rush of air.

Gat gave another dark laugh that could only be produced by him, and went back to eating his Fist.

All in all...it was a usual day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anamnesis: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3688782/chapters/8159028
> 
> And I'd also recommend reading more than this one. He has some great fics.


End file.
